Drown
by XxZuiliu
Summary: In that single moment, all he could focus on was the white-haired teen standing behind his little sister. The boy smiled at him and held out his hand. "Would you like to help me remake this world?" Reincarnated!OC, Antagonist!OC


_… _

* * *

><p><strong>Drown<strong>

"_And the Waves Pull Us Under"_

* * *

><p>Tokyo is always busy.<p>

There is an endless flood of pedestrians constantly traversing the lengths of the labyrinthine sidewalks in the capital city. An unending sea of faceless masses milling about, of people each absorbed in their own thoughts, their own tasks, their own routines. Each of them are all easily overlooked, easily dismissed, easily forgotten –because, really; who would notice? If one of them were to vanish the next day, who would take note of it? Who would ever remember the disappearance of a single person among so many?

No one.

_No one would notice._

… And isn't it sad, that humans are all so inconsequential? That no matter who they are, what they have achieved, what they do, what they strive for–

Humans are fragile.

Weak.

_Easily disposable._

… Isn't it sad?

At first, he only notices him as another face in the crowd. A nameless face. One that becomes gradually more and more familiar to him as he passes it each morning on his way to school, always standing at that same corner on the left side of the third junction of the streets. But regardless, no matter how familiar that face becomes to him –in the end, it's just another face in the crowd, just another one among so many others.

Just another nameless face.

* * *

><p>Aoi is not a nameless face, nor is she inconsequential.<p>

(… To him, at least. Humans are all selfish little creatures; each self-centered and self-absorbed and only considerate of what they deem important to themselves. He is no exception to that generalization of mankind, and has absolutely no trouble whatsoever admitting it to himself. It is nothing if not the cold, hard truth.)

"Onii-chan!"

He looks up just in time to see his blue-eyed sister surfacing from the depths of the waters in the children's swimming pool, a wide smile on her face and all but bouncing with excitement.

(Or at least, as well as one can bounce in a swimming pool, anyways. It's an endearing sight to see.)

"Onii-chan, when are you going to come down here, too?" She floats to the edge of the pool, letting the current carry her over. Bringing her elbows up to rest on the edges of the smooth tiles, body sliding halfway out of the water and onto dry land, she aims a cute pout at him. "It's boring to just swim by myself!"

His lips twitch upwards.

"Coming." The word slips easily from his tongue as he closes the math textbook in front of him, carefully setting it to the side. His movement is nothing if not natural; every bit the image of a young schoolchild, concentrating on completing the homework that his teachers assigned in class today. Just like any normal boy his age.

Normal.

_Normal._

(Wonderful word to say, isn't it? _Normal._)

"Onii-chan!"

He dives into the pool with nary a ripple, resurfacing by his sister's side. It's nice, hearing her laughter –such a jubilant and carefree sound. When had been the last time he himself had laughed like that?

(Sometime in the earliest vestiges of another lifetime, perhaps.)

"Hey, hey, teach me how to dive, too!" The loose strands of her sky blue hair swirl lazily around them both as she excitedly rolls into a somersault in the middle of the waters. "You promised to teach me last time, no?"

Aoi enjoys swimming just as much as he does, if not even more so.

… Or rather, Aoi enjoys swimming for what it is, while he only enjoys swimming when the activity is done with his dear little sister. He isn't quite fond of swimming alone, for there are then a hundred other thoughts that assault his mind (thoughts that he would rather not think about, to say the least) –but with Aoi, it's another matter altogether.

With her, the buoyant waters are freeing, cleansing; almost as if he could float away on the gentle waves washing away all worries and concerns.

(They say that laughter is a medicine, and he agrees with that saying. Hearing Aoi's laughter always, always lifts the burdens on his shoulders.)

The two of them spend the rest of the day swimming in the pool, playing with each other. A taste of normalcy, of what a normal life would be like, of a perfectly normal pair of siblings enjoying an afternoon in the sunlit waters.

He can see it.

When his eyes are open, he is just another little boy playing in the swimming pool with his sister.

_(When his eyes are closed, he is a man drowning in blood.)_

* * *

><p>The streets of Tokyo are always filled with people.<p>

Wave after wave after wave.

Always filled with people.

…

He stands at the crossroad, hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his coat and silently waiting for the lights to change.

Over there –the old couple who always like to drink a cup of morning tea in that café in the corner. On the other side of the streets, there stood the businessman in the suit and tie, waiting at the curb for a taxi. To the left of the newsstand behind him was the homeless guitarist singing his songs, every early Friday like clockwork.

The scene is nothing he hasn't seen a thousand times before, simple and boring and mind-numbingly normal. Which is good.

Normal means that everything is simple.

Normal means that nothing is wrong.

Normal means that nothing has changed.

He doesn't want this life to change.

(There are, after all, much worse lives to live than that of an average Japanese schoolboy.)

A mental countdown: Three, two, one. The lights change.

He crosses the street with the rest of the people caught in the hustle-bustle of the morning rush, eyes idly flickering over the remainder of the usual crowd as he leaves.

So many faces, each absorbed in their own lives, their own thoughts.

Familiar faces.

Nameless, familiar faces.

Inconsequential, nameless, familiar faces.

…

He glances casually at the white-haired boy who is always standing on the left side of the third junction of the streets.

Lavender eyes.

(Their gazes meet for a brief millisecond, before they are then swept apart again by the incessant crowd.)

* * *

><p>There is looking, and there is seeing.<p>

Looking and seeing are two entirely different things, similar as they appear to be on the surface. When one looks at the drugstore tucked away in the back of one of the shadier alleys, they only take note of the run-down storefront and cracked windows. But if one looks and _sees, _they will then infer how the run-down appearance is not from age but from deliberate decorations, and the cracked windows are only part of the decorations as well.

In short, if one only looks, they see a small drugstore that has most likely seen one too many days of being visited by local gangs for 'paying rent.' But if one _sees_, they know that it's not so simple –that most likely, this appearance is only a ruse to ward off normal civilians from wandering too near.

There is looking, and then there is seeing.

He knows both of them very well.

* * *

><p>"You need to be more observant, Shion-kun."<p>

The speaker is a tall blue-haired man towering over him. A middle-aged man with a rumpled appearance, still wearing the same formal suit that he had walked in with.

The man called Father.

It's rare for their parents to be home –and rarer still for any of them to pull their children aside for a talk like this. For the most part, he and Aoi are always left alone, left to their own devices. It's a good thing that he has always been self-sufficient, even in the distant childhood that he vaguely remembers living through before his current life as part of this blue-eyed family.

(For all intents and purposes, he had practically raised Aoi on his own.)

"Is there a problem, tou-san?" It takes no effort at all to keep his voice as calm and placid as it always is, returning the earlier comment from Father with a soft question. The comment had not been so much a mere comment as it was a _warning_ –which was the only reason why he was bothering to ask about it at all.

Because he was fully aware that his parents weren't _good people. _Quite the opposite, in fact.

They were criminals.

_Mafiosi._

… But he had realized a long time ago, a lifetime ago, that even criminals were human. That this man and his wife were human. That they loved each other. Loved their children. Loved this _family._

Which was why he hadn't turned them in to the proper authorities yet.

…

He was cold.

He was cold and cruel and merciless and _knew _it; it was something that his parents –these parents– knew as well. But they also knew just as well as he did that despite being so cold, he was human, too. That he had his own flaws, his own imperfections –these signs that marked him as _human, _just as vulnerable as any other person would be.

So long as he wasn't dragged into this mafia life –so long as _Aoi _wasn't dragged into this mafia life– he was perfectly content with looking the other way when it came to their parents' choice of occupation, even if he didn't approve of it.

There were worse things to be than criminals, after all.

"Just… be careful, alright?" His father's voice sounded tired to his ears.

Tired, old, weary.

A pair of rough, calloused hands landed gently on his shoulders –_scent of gunpowder lingering on his sleeves, disinfectants on his skin– _"The Famiglia is going through some tough times right now. Your mother and I, we're in this too deep –there's no way for us to pull out at this point, not when things are like this. We'll have to head back to Italy tomorrow. Both of us will do what we can, and I know you can take care of yourself, Shion-kun, but… just be _careful. _Make sure to watch out for Aoi-chan too, okay?"

He dips his head.

"Of course, tou-san."

The aging man lets out a low exhale, straightening up again. Shion very deliberately shifts his gaze to the side as his father stumbles –_leg wound, right thigh, recent_–

"I'm so sorry, Shion-kun." There is a self-depreciating note choking the man's tone when he speaks again. "We tried. We _tried. _We did our best to keep you and Aoi-chan away from all of this, but–"

He interrupts his father's words.

"You and kaa-san did your best. That's all I can ever ask for."

… That's all anyone can ask for, isn't it?

No one is perfect.

He hears the sound of a low chuckle, and then the man reaches down and ruffles his hair affectionately.

"… Thank you."

He allows the man to hold him, hesitantly returning the hug when it doesn't appear that the man is going to let go anytime soon.

His sister is the little darling of the family. He, on the other hand –the love that he shares with his parents is a very distant sort of love, the sort that is thought of fondly every now and then. Open signs of affection like this come few and far between, and never without good reason.

But if the situation is truly as dangerous and as volatile as his father seems to think it to be, he can certainly allow this moment of weakness.

"… Stay safe, tou-san. Kaa-san, too."

…

That night, the four of them sit in the living room together. Four mugs of hot chocolate, a plate of cookies, and a night spent huddled together in front of the fireplace.

He isn't surprised to find his parents gone the next morning. Instead, Shion simply sighs and begins the process of cleaning up and readying himself and Aoi for school.

It isn't anything unusual. Their parents always drop in and out of their lives on an erratic schedule. In a way, it is only to be expected. Mafiosi would never have time to properly raise their children the way normal parents in a normal family would. Quite frankly, he was surprised that they were even able to come home as often as they did –after all, the couple operated at the main base located all the way in Italy.

It didn't mean that he didn't resent them just the slightest bit for choosing their jobs over their children, but he couldn't fault them for lack of effort. Even if there were nights when Aoi would crawl into his bed and cry because she missed their parents, even if he truly _did _want nothing more than to live the simple life of an average young boy in a normal family –well, there were always days when he could blend in on the streets, blend in with his classmates, blend in and disappear and become nothing but a footnote on the backdrop of the stage.

He was very good at pretending.

Aoi, on the other hand, couldn't put on an act for her life –so perhaps it was a good thing that she was ignorant of their parents' true line of work. That despite their background, she was still able to remain so innocent and oblivious and _pure. _

(They say that ignorance is bliss for a good reason.)

Or perhaps, this is only another part of his own selfishness. Of wanting a normal life so much to the point that he would actively work to hide the truth from his dear little sister. Hadn't he himself been upset at being kept in the dark, once upon another lifetime ago?

_Humans are selfish creatures._

… He just… at the end of this all, he just… he just wanted to live a normal life. An average, ordinary, normal life. One where he was nothing but a simple Japanese schoolboy with an energetic little sister, and two parents who lived with and loved them.

He wanted a family –a normal, happy family spending their days together with each other.

…

…

…

(He hadn't known it then, but that day had been the last time that he and Aoi would ever see their parents again.)

* * *

><p>A face.<p>

He's standing at the edge of the curb when he catches his first glimpse of a face that his mind does not automatically brush to the side, and that is more than enough to alarm him.

Why?

Simple.

A face. But not just any ordinary face.

_It's a face that doesn't belong._

Foreign, for one. And while Tokyo has its fair share of tourists, there's something _off _about this foreign face, this foreign man. Even just from looking at the way he walks –_not a civilian, not a lazy stroll; purposeful, graceful, predatory– _and despite the sunglasses hiding this man's eyes, he has no doubts that the foreigner is scanning the crowds on the streets, just as he himself is.

When the foreigner begins carefully picking his way towards him, he keeps his body perfectly limp and relaxed, showing no signs of having been alerted to this new presence. No sense in letting the man know that he was _aware _of him, after all. Not when he could –potentially– turn this situation to his advantage.

But first, a change of location.

(There is really no doubt that he would be late to school today, which would ruin his impeccable attendance record –something that he was actually proud of, inane as it sounded. But then again, something like that would only be a small price to pay for ensuring his and his sister's safety.)

Shion breaks routine for the first time in years and turns away the exact moment when he usually crosses the street with the rest of the crowd, instead spinning on his heel and heading towards one of the sparser roads…

There.

Alleyway.

…

The ruse of an impatient boy wanting to take a shortcut to school is something the foreign man falls for hook, line, and sinker. It's an easy thing to pretend to struggle while climbing over the rusted iron fence at the end of the narrow pathway, and as the foreigner draws closer and closer and _closer–_

_Close enough._

He lets go, feet kicking off hard from the iron wires and flipping –it's a simple thing to use his momentum to bring the tall foreigner crashing to the ground, landing on top of his chest with his fingers carefully wrapped around the man's throat.

"_Why are you here?"_

There is a moment of stunned silence, before the man finally regains his senses and begins struggling. Before he begins struggling against a _child _pinning him down, a child literally holding his life in those stone-cold hands. How can this be happening? He is a skilled hitman; taking care of a kid like this should be child's play for someone of his caliber–

Clearly, clearly, the man hadn't expected to be overwhelmed by a young boy only beginning to come in his early teen years. Reality said otherwise.

… Reality also said that the blue-haired boy with ice-cold eyes would not hesitate to press that knife into his throat should he refuse to answer.

The man was not a very realistic person, and therefore unreasonable.

Unreasonable meant that he was easily disposable.

…

…

…

_A white-haired boy stepped out of the same alleyway moments after the blue-haired one left, watching after the other boy with smiling eyes._

* * *

><p>Aoi's eyes are always expressive. It's part of her charm, part of the aura that makes her so endearing to everyone.<p>

"Do you like swimming, onii-chan?"

He tilts his head curiously in his sister's direction. The little girl offers him a bright smile in response, before splashing him playfully –eyes shining with unrestrained cheer and a vague hint of mischief.

(He would have to watch out for pranks tomorrow morning.)

"… I suppose."

"'I suppose?' What kind of answer is that?" Aoi laughs again, and he can't help but smile upon seeing her giggle so happily. He never wants her to lose that laughter. "Geez, onii-chan, sometimes you sound like an old man!"

He smiles sardonically at the apt comparison, not bothering to say anything to refute it. The blue-haired girl huffs jokingly, puffing out her cheeks like a chipmunk before breaking the faux-angry demeanor, smiling and laughing again.

He chuckles along with her.

"I really like swimming, onii-chan." She flops onto her back and floats lazily on the surface of the water. "I like it because it's super duper fun!"

"I'm glad you think so, Aoi-chan."

The little girl peers at him with wide blue eyes, from where she has decided to partially submerge herself in the other end of the pool.

"Onii-chan, why do _you_ like swimming?"

He pauses for a moment to think on the innocent question.

Because.

Because the word 'like,' it… there… there aren't very many things that he actually _likes_, so much as he passively accepts without any real opinion on the matter altogether. But he doesn't deny that there is a certain sort of enjoyment in swimming next to his sister in the clear waters, smiling together and letting her laughter carry all their worries away.

(Even if it's only fleeting, every moment is still precious to him.)

"I like swimming because Aoi-chan does," he finally settles on his answer. "I like what makes Aoi-chan happy."

It's the truth.

* * *

><p>The traffic lights change, and he walks onto the asphalt streets along with the rest of the crowd, sister in hand.<p>

(Even if it means that it will take him longer to walk to his own school, he doesn't want her to be alone by herself too long, particularly after that incident with the foreign man that day. Considering the _competent_ staff working in the school, Aoi should be relatively safe as long as she was on school grounds.)

He ushers his sister along, turning–

"Good morning, Shion-kun."

A face.

A familiar face.

A smiling face. A fox-like grin, playful and mischievous and friendly. And a little bit of something else, too. There's a corner of his mind that whispers _dangerous _upon seeing this man, where there had once been no reaction whatsoever before. And that unsettles him, because now his mind is screaming things like _dangerous, stay away, escape–_

He blinks.

Not a man. A boy. A young teen, perhaps a few years older than himself. A child.

_Not-child. Not someone like him. How could he have overlooked this… person before?_

"A friend of yours, onii-chan?" Aoi peers up at the taller boy in curiosity, before beaming. "My name is Aoi! Nice to meet you! Mou, onii-chan never introduces me to any of his friends."

"Ah, is that so?" The other teen's smile widens as he crouches down in front of the little girl. Shion valiantly resists the urge to shove his oblivious sister behind him. "I'm Byakuran."

He gives this 'Byakuran' a terse nod instead, discreetly tightening his grip on Aoi's hand.

(… Although, he's fairly sure that the gesture does not go unnoticed, if the mirth dancing in the other boy's eyes is any indication of things.)

"I'm afraid we must be leaving, Byakuran-san." He abruptly sketches a polite bow, straightening just as quickly. "Otherwise, Aoi-chan might be late for class."

"Onii-chan!" The little blue-haired girl pouts in protest, but makes no real effort to stay. She knew her brother's opinion on tardiness, after all.

Byakuran, on the other hand, simply laughs. It takes a monumental effort on his behalf to stop himself from tensing at this sight –although, _why _does he feel so threatened? Well, not _threatened, _per se, but… but…

"Then you'd better get going, ne?" A glint of _something _in the white-haired teen's lavender eyes. What was it? "Wouldn't want Aoi-chan here to get in trouble with her teachers now, would we?"

"… No."

And they walk away, parting in opposite directions.

(Unbeknownst to him at the time, that had only been the first of the many encounters drawing them together.)

* * *

><p>His body wakes up before his mind registers being awake, which leaves him disoriented and vulnerable and horribly confused, until he hears her voice.<p>

It all makes sense after that.

_"Onii-chan, onii-chan! Lookies!"_

He lets out an involuntary grunt. The little girl wasn't quite so little anymore –it was starting to actually hurt whenever Aoi decided to spontaneously charge into his room and jump on his stomach. What was he, a trampoline? "The list came out! _I made it!_ I qualify for the Nationals!"

He squints at the paper in her hands, the fog of sleep beginning to clear away from his mind as his brain processes the characters in front of him. Names. It's a list of names. The list of the names of contestants from the latest swimming competition, who had been selected for the junior division of the national competition–

Ah. The fifth name on the list, second row down.

_Suzuki Aoi._

He smiles.

"Congratulations, Aoi-chan. I'm proud of you."

The blue-haired girl snuggles up to him, smiling excitedly.

"Onii-chan, do you think Papa and Mama will make it back in time to watch me swim this time?"

Papa and Mama. Father and of whom had completely dropped off the radar ever since that night when Father left his warning, disappearing completely. It had been several months since he had seen hide or hair of any of them… and considering the strange faces he'd been seeing lately in the crowd, including the few that he had been forced to take action and dispose of–

Well.

… There wasn't _proof _yet, was there?

(Even if he wasn't quite so optimistic anymore.)

"They're still busy," he chooses his words carefully. "I'm sure they'll do their best to make it back on time, but… well, don't be surprised if they aren't here, alright?"

Aoi bites her lip.

"Aoi-chan, please don't be sad." He gives her a gentle hug. "Father and Mother are both very busy people. You know they love you very much and would love to be here if they could."

"… Yes, onii-chan."

"Don't be sad," he repeats himself, hugging her closer. "Even if they don't make it, you'll have me there to watch you just like always,no? I will always, always be here for you, Aoi-chan."

* * *

><p>He stands here on the streets silently, leaning against the side of the wall, lingering in the back of the crowd and waiting for the street lights to change.<p>

And then he hears that voice again.

"Hi there, Shion-kun!"

It is only polite to respond.

"… Good morning, Byakuran-san."

"My, my, how polite." The white-haired teen smiles teasingly, lavender eyes crinkling into narrow slits. "How is dear little Aoi-chan?"

"… She's at school." There is a brief moment of silence that falls between them as a large truck rounds the corner, the roar of its engine drowning out all other noise before it fades. "Is there something I can help you with, Byakuran-san?"

The other boy laughs.

"You're a sharp one, Shion-kun." His hands leave their pockets –marshmallows? Shion admits to being a little surprised, and even a little confused. Why is there a bag of marshmallows in the boy's hands? And come to think of it, was that pocket even big enough to contain such a large packet of marshmallows in the first place…?

"So, what do you think?"

He blinks, startled.

"Pardon me?"

"What do you think?" Byakuran doesn't seem to mind repeating himself, waving out a single arm and gesturing towards the general crowd stretched in front of them. The endless crowd of people walking back and forth along the streets of Tokyo. "About this. What do you think about all these people? Do you think they're happy?"

"I… what?"

The question seemingly springs out of nowhere, and completely blindsides him as a result.

Byakuran simply clucks his tongue in amusement.

"How very eloquent." There's a small drawl in the other boy's voice. Friendly, teasing. And then his tone changes. "Are _you _happy, Shion-kun?"

He isn't quite sure how to respond to something like this, and so he doesn't.

(Byakuran doesn't seem to be actually expecting an answer, anyways.)

"They think they're happy." The white-haired boy pops another marshmallow into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before delicately selecting another. His eyes are focused on the crowd milling about in front of them as he speaks. "These people. They think they're happy… Most of them, anyways. Oh, they might have their day-to-day struggles and personal woes, but they believe that they're all happy for the most part. They always think, 'I should be satisfied with what I have, because things can always be so much worse.' A little sad, isn't it? How many of them think, 'I'm not satisfied with what I have, because I know I deserve better?'"

He doesn't mention how eerily close his own thoughts are to the first example, instead opting to focus on the wording of the second as he echoes the last two words.

"_Deserve _better?"

"Don't be like that, Shion-kun." Byakuran airily waves a marshmallow at him. "I'm sure that you'll agree with me that different people are all deserving of different things, no? For example, a man who is born into a poor family works and works and works, but no matter how much effort he puts in to everything, he is never rewarded. A man born into a rich family, on the other hand, is handed whatever he wants on a silver platter, without ever having to lift a single finger for it. Is that fair?"

No, it's not.

"See? You agree with me." His expression. The other boy had most likely inferred his thoughts from his expression. He certainly hadn't said anything aloud. "The world isn't fair, Shion-kun. And you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

And suddenly, the other boy's eyes are pinning him in place, paralyzing him to his spot on the ground.

Byakuran pronounces his next sentence clearly, making sure there is no mistake in his words. "You would know that, Shion-kun, because you're one of the ones who deserve so much better than what you have right now."

The moment passes, and he can move again.

And at this, he smiles wryly, finally knowing where the other boy is headed with this conversation.

"Someone like me doesn't 'deserve' anything, Byakuran-san." He lets out an vaguely amused puff of breath, adjusting the schoolbag slung over his shoulder. "I'm… content with living like this. I'm not like you. Judging from what you've said so far, you're someone who will set out to change the world, right? That makes us very different people, you and I –you have such high aspirations, such noble goals that you will no doubt work towards and achieve one day. I, however, only wish to live an ordinary, simple life with Aoi-chan."

…

There is something strangely piercing in the other boy's gaze. Piercing and analyzing, as if taking him apart and putting him back together again.

He doesn't flinch.

"… I'm not going to just _change_ things, Shion-kun." The white-haired boy finally says at long last, leaning in closer and letting the smile drop from his face, something unusually serious seeping through the cheerful façade. "I'm going to _remake this entire world_."

…

"… Good luck then, Byakuran-san."

(It's not his fault that he can't keep the skeptical edge out of his tone. Remaking the world is a rather tall order, after all.)

The other boy's solemn expression breaks out into a bright grin again, touched with a hint of slyness.

"You should join me, Shion-kun." The white-haired boy balances a marshmallow on the tip of his finger. "You have potential for great things. And even despite your claims of wanting a normal life, just like the one you're leading right now –you're not exactly leading a 'normal life,' are you?"

He tenses and–

"So jumpy," the boy remarks lightly. From his _other _side. When had he moved? "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to you or our dear little Aoi-chan. I have no intentions of threatening you, it was simply an observation. You say that you only wish to lead a normal life –but then, isn't it the world here that's unfair, then? Forcing you to be born into such circumstances that separate you from normalcy? That even though you only want to be left alone to a simple life with your little sister –_they_ are never going to simply leave you alone, y'know."

"Perhaps," he allows. What the other boy says is not without merit, and is something he himself has thought of before. "But even so, I don't see why my situation would be any of your concern, Byakuran-san."

"Touchy, aren't we?" The boy laughs. "I told you, didn't I? I'd like you to help me remake this world. Your situation is only one out of many –there are thousands of other people facing troubles similar to your own. Don't you think it's unfair? Don't you want it all to change?"

"It's not something that can be changed so easily." He shakes his head, "How would you even begin to fix something like this? By becoming God?"

It's only a joke, a careless remark, but the white-haired boy's answer freezes him in his tracks.

"Exactly."

… A stunned silence.

"Byakuran-san, I highly doubt that _anyone _is capable of creating a perfect world." His words are candid and flat as he addresses the smiling boy again, "Utopia doesn't exist."

Byakuran shrugs, as if something being entirely _impossible_ is only a minor inconvenience to him. Negligible details, nothing to spend a sleepless night over.

His answer to this is as equally simple as his first.

"I'll make it exist."

…

White hair. Lavender eyes. Street clothes. A bag of marshmallows clutched in his hands, a disarming smile on his lips. Just another face in the crowd, just another teenager –what makes him think that something as outlandish as what he is proposing is even possible? Where does the confidence and weight behind his words come from?

…

…

…

(It doesn't come as a surprise to him when he is late again for school that morning.)

* * *

><p>The boy named Byakuran approaches him multiple times after that. Their discussions vary from time to time –but ultimately lead to the same thing.<p>

Although, as convincing and reasonable and logical as the other boy is, he simply isn't interested in joining his crusade.

Shion isn't so grand and self-sacrificing as to pledge himself to a noble cause to change the world for the better. He only wants to live a quiet, normal life with Aoi. Even if their parents have disappeared from their lives –in the more permanent sense of the word, maybe– he doesn't feel any inclination to head out and avenge them, much less commit himself to the cause of 'remaking the world.'

He only wants to live a normal life in relative peace.

_You won't be able to live a 'normal life,' Shion-kun. They'll never stop coming after you and Aoi-chan, and for no fault of your own. Don't you think it's unfair?_

_But, you can change things._

_In fact, you can help me change everything._

… No, he doesn't want anything to change. For the most part, he is content with this life. The hitmen that occasionally come after him and Aoi are nothing he can't deal with –a brief altercation, and life returns to normal.

Normal.

_Normal._

* * *

><p>Morning.<p>

Cars filling the streets, people crowding the sidewalks. He is taking the day off from school –today is the day of Aoi's national swimming competition, and he has promised multiple times to be there to watch her–

–but only after getting rid of this 'tail' first.

It's a little more difficult this time than the others. The hitman following him is more on guard, harder to catch by surprise, and seems to be very aware that the Suzuki boy is capable of combat, of fighting back and defending himself.

But Shion is nothing if not versatile, and he manages to ambush the man–

Except, it turns out that the hitman is a pyromaniac.

He repeats: _Pyomaniac._

(There is something universally unfair about the hitman chasing you turning out to have superpowers as a pyromaniac when you're only armed with a rusted piece of iron from the dumpsters. Then again, as Byakuran is always fond of saying –this entire world is unfair. And this time, he feels particularly inclined to agree with that apt assessment.)

The flames are something that he has never seen before –red-white tongues of fire twisting into a raging inferno, destroying anything that it comes into contact with. Not just _burning_, but literally _destroying_. His jacket is incinerated in less than a second, and it's a testament to his skills and reflexes that he manages to duck out of the way in the nick of time, somehow proceeding with his original plan and using the metal pipe to bring the man down.

Things get a bit complicated after that.

Because this isn't a single hitman on the job –his accomplices and co-workers find him shortly after he brings the man down, and from there it turns into a chase. A chase that he barely manages to stay ahead of, if only by virtue of knowing these winding streets like the back of his hand–

And when he stumbles onto the open road, finally thinking that he has managed to escape, he sees a car swerving wildly around the corner. The assassins are inside, determined to run him over–

It's a simple thing to step back and let them miss–

"_Onii-chan!"_

For a moment, his heart stops.

Aoi.

_Aoi._

Why was she even out here? Shouldn't she be warming up for her competition at this moment? Had he really taken so long that she had decided to search for him? Why–

(No time.)

The little girl hadn't bothered looking to her sides, simply rushing ahead towards him– the car was moving too fast, if he stepped back right now it would be _Aoi _who was hit, and he couldn't let that happen, couldn't–

He lunges.

He lunges directly into the path of the wild car.

He lunges to his death without a second thought.

He lunges, pushing his sister away–

"Ara, ara." An all-too-familiar whisper behind his ear. White hair and lavender eyes and a teasing smile. "In a bit of a bind here, aren't we?"

…

…

…

_Byakuran._

* * *

><p>In the aftermath of it all, he looks back upon that moment as something –dare he say– almost otherworldly.<p>

The way the other boy stepped forward out of nowhere, saving both himself and Aoi. Flicking out a hand after the skidding car almost as an afterthought, sending the vehicle bursting into flames–

An angel.

And then he remembers those conversations, all those conversations, that he had held with the boy named Byakuran.

_Isn't this world unfair?_

Being hunted for no fault of their own. Being unable to lead a normal life, despite having done nothing wrong. Being unable to be left alone in peace.

_I will change everything._

It's impossible to change this flawed world. Utopia doesn't exist.

_I'll make it exist._

…

Byakuran smiled benevolently to the side, where he had a comforting arm draped over Aoi as they stood next to the wreckage of the smoking, upturned car. Where the police were beginning to arrive on the scene, where a crowd had formed –and yet, no one seemed to be any the wiser of their presence. Strange, wasn't it?

Perhaps even stranger still was how he couldn't even find it in himself to feel surprised by this. Or maybe it was just the aftermath of almost having been flattened by a car.

Shakily, he stood to his feet again –slightly trembling at the near brush with death, but the majority of the trembling itself was from the revelations that had come upon him the moment _Byakuran _had appeared in that critical moment of need.

_Byakuran._

A boy who had declared that he would become a god.

…

…

…

The white-haired boy's smile widened as he staggered towards them, tilting his head to the side. His arm reached upwards towards him, palm extended in invitation.

"So, how about it, Shion-kun?"

He stared blankly at the outstretched hand for a moment.

Byakuran.

The boy who had said he would become a god. The boy who was _capable_ of becoming a god.

_If I were the god of this world we live in, I will rewrite the fabric of reality such that it will reflect that which mankind hopes for and aspires towards. __What do you think, Shion-kun?_

The white-haired boy took a single step forward, Aoi following the movement, reaching out his hand.

"Would you like to help me remake this world?"

…

And Shion knew what his answer would be.

* * *

><p>.<p>

…

.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Notes:<span>

… Written due to a bout of writer's block and a major case of several plot bunny invasions this morning. And partly since I just wanted to set up an Antagonist!OC in the KHR-verse because I honestly felt like it. **Discoabc** has an Antagonist!OC fic called _Withering Flowers, _which is where I first got the idea of writing an Antagonist!OC story in the KHR-verse. An interesting thought to chew on, no?

What's it like to operate from a villain's point of view? Or rather, a reincarnated villain's point of view?

Shion is a kind-of-OC. 'Cuz remember how Bluebell had a brother who died saving her from a car accident? How she lost use of her legs and landed in the hospital from that, which then eventually led to her parents hiring Byakuran as a counselor for her?

Yeah, Shion is that brother (Aoi=Bluebell, for those of you who haven't figured it out yet. I highly doubt that all of Byakuran's high-ranking subordinates 'just so happened' to have flower-based names… Plus, 'Suzuki Aoi.' Suzu=bell, Aoi=blue… not the bluebell flower, but close enough xD). Obviously, Bluebell's brother is not dead from the dreaded car accident this time around. So technically he counts as a canon character…?

Dunno if Bluebell's family ever had mafia connections. Let's just pretend they do. xD

**_Please leave a note if you're interested in seeing this fic continued._** Otherwise, I might just mark this as 'complete' and throw away all thoughts of continuing it entirely. I'm rather preoccupied with working on other stories right now, as well as balancing schoolwork. (Blargh)

… I think this can probably stand alone as a one-shot just fine, don't you?

-XxZuiliu


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